


Stay This Way

by Thewrightbrothers89



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Character Death In Dream, Crime Fighting, Crimes & Criminals, Detectives, Developing Relationship, Developing Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Drama, Dream Sex, Dreams and Nightmares, Drunken Kissing, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Smut, F/M, Implied Relationships, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Insomnia, Kidnapping, Love Confessions, M/M, Male Slash, Murder Mystery, Mystery, Psychological Drama, Romance, Surprise Kissing, Violence, Wet Dream
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-18
Updated: 2017-04-18
Packaged: 2018-10-20 10:50:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10661046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thewrightbrothers89/pseuds/Thewrightbrothers89
Summary: Living day to day no longer is so simple since the appearance of an arch rival, Jim Moriarty, in the consulting business; the insomniac that is Sherlock Holmes must decipher a way of eliminating him as a player in their intricate game of chess. Especially when the pieces and pawns being his family, friends and love interest: John Watson. Will the strain of unspoken words unravel the delicate balance created by the doctor and consulting detective? Cases tampered with, people going missing, his brother interfering with his general meddling; Sherlock has to become a classs juggling act to protect those he cares for.Pairings: John x Sherlock ; Mycroft x Lestrade





	Stay This Way

**Author's Note:**

> **DISCLAIMER: 
> 
> I obviously own NOTHING of Sherlock, they belong solely to Arthur Conan Doyle. 
> 
> It has been a LONG while since I've published anything; and a first time with this fandom, but I absolutely adore the characters, their structures and the developments from the show so I had to pop in with my own fiction. 
> 
> I'm always looking for constructive/positive feedback in comments. I do write when is convenient for me to do so which happens to be in between work/school so typos are definitely going to happen along with grammar mistakes for which I apologize for early on!
> 
> Thank you so much for taking the time to take a gander at my work. Kudos are extra love and comments even more so!**

Chapter One: Seeing a Man about a Dog  

 

A dream.

That was what it was. It had to be; otherwise why else would his mind be so collected?

The real world was funny like that; one’s mind was its own enemy when viably awake.

This dream started as the others would with darkness and its shadows surrounding him like a warm cocoon, it was suffocating.

He stood at his tall stature, almost gangly by most standards yet refined by others; barefoot and opposite a short man with soft blonde hair that was always cut in careful pieces and clothing unruffled; a military man for sure. It was a welcomed sight yet the familiar face held none of its jovial emotion, only a blank unreadable expression he turned away. The footsteps that were heard were slow as it exhibited hesitance towards a worn oaken door.

There was a brief pause at the doorway; it caused a small clenching sensation to curl in the pit of his stomach and the detective could not deduce why. Was he having a heart attack in this dream? Statistically those who experienced heart attacks in their sleep were not significantly different to being awake. Or was it perhaps indigestion? The feeling against bare feet immediately became evident as he followed a step or two only to get stuck to the floor. It was as if a heavy adhesive had been applied to them, hindering his step.  

He had to do something! Or perhaps say something? His mouth opened to retort back to the man who was trailing to the door to the street only to hear the strain of nothing coming out. Oh Sherlock could practically hear the jokes or sneers from colleagues stabbing into his mind for which he momentarily ignored.

_‘Useless.’_

_‘FINALLY something shut him right up.’_

_‘It’s about time he knows his place.’_

His sapphire eyes only turned towards the back he had observed many a time doing menial things: picking up the trash from his own latest experiment, hunched over after a long day on the tube, or relaxed as bone of that vertebrae would stretch languidly like a cat before nestling into his armchair. It was a delicious view he never tired of, thought of peppering kisses against the small nape that barely peeked through layers of jumpers and offending shirts. It always gave him the itch to divulge of the offending clothing to allow his eyes pure, unfiltered view of a lithe back.

Right now though, it was having an opposite effect on him: it was giving him anxiety that he desperately needed to vanquish.

The street meant to a cab to which it meant he would leave. Leave forever. How could he stop this scenario from playing out? Why was John Watson leaving? There were too many questions for his calculative mind to work his body. Had he done something to terribly offend the other?

John. His mind supplied.

Don’t leave. It finished falling on equally deafened ears as the figure continued on his mission of leaving him standing there like a gaping fish. The steps going down the squeaky steps, pausing exaggeratedly on four and seven where it creaked the loudest till they reached number fourteen and to the larger door.

A growl escaping him as he willed his feet to cooperate and move; to stop this with action! Now as it released his grip and he practically jumped the last three steps, he skidded to a halt at the door frame. There he was.

John, standing on the sidewalk with his hands raised and facing back to him, expression looking fearful yet accepted as someone else stood behind him. The back he had admired no longer in view, instead the face of an enemy blared through with its noted gleeful face.

Jim Moriarty.

The laughter that followed pierced his ears like a siren’s wail; feeling it throb in his eardrums as his eyes sharpened to gaze at the mirthful face. A pair of invisible hands caught themselves around his waist to hinder his movement once again.

His long arms with their large palms extended outward towards John’s that were held up, reaching as best he could while his frame struggled. The shorter man’s arms following suit as he reached forward only to have Moriarty slip an arm around his waist instead and the gun now more notable as it was placed to the blonde’s temple.

A frustrated noise escaped the doctor who set his hands back in place as Moriarty appeared to whisper something into John’s ear. It made the shorter man merely pale and become more despondent.

John!

I am sorry Sherlock was mouthed to him from those chapped lips that were always drying from the heat and cold alike. The lips that the curly haired man dreamed of wetting with his tongue after receiving a verbal lashing himself; it made him swallow hard.

A small secretive smile came onto John’s lips instead now as those meticulous hands that saved lives were no longer reaching for his own; they went behind him to Moriarty’s. No. One of them was going to die with the probability of a gunshot hitting a viable organ. The brief struggle resulted in the percentage calculated outcome: one would die from it.

The loud pop sound stopped any passerby on the street who watched the violence unfold; screaming in terror to seek shelter should a bullet stray.

As the blonde crumpled to the floor, legs giving out as to allow knees to fall onto the hard pavement, a hand going to his abdomen that bled profusely as the light in those coffee colored irises slowly dimmed; all Sherlock could feel was the burning in his throat, the laughter of his nemesis echoing and his body numb.

John!

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

The incessant barking of a rambunctious pup could be heard very audibly and loud; breaking the dream swiftly with its proximity. Long lashes peeled back swiftly, blue eyes were wide as he took in his surroundings in silent observation. That’s right, it was Saturday and they were supposed to have an ‘in’ day. His chest grasping momentarily for a breath he had not realized was shorted.

A bloodhound pup around four months old now resided in his home that was shared with the army doctor and it drove him crazy. His friend had insisted on keeping it temporarily to his dismay. It had been a week since its arrival to their no longer adjusted lifestyle.

His heart still beating rapidly in his ribcage as he took a steadying breath that was soft enough for him to hear his own life while quiet his companion would not question it. Though knowing John, the smaller man would not question his sighs anymore considering their frequency. He would probably continue as nothing unless he, himself, drew more attention to them.

Sherlock lay there on the long couch calmly in contemplation. The dream was becoming habitual, ever since the incident at the pool. His heart had dropped at seeing so many explosive strapped to John; a man he knew was very much capable in his right to be used for foul purposes. Moriarty knew how to press his buttons and it irked him that the feeling was not reciprocated.

What he would not kill for a smoke or perhaps something stronger. He vaguely glanced at the dog as if determining to risk John’s wrath for sacrificing it in his will to feel better.

“Don’t even think about it.” The shorter man commented as he stepped into the shared room from his own bedroom; looking relatively refreshed from a shower and shave. He saw the way Sherlock had been eyeing the little puppy.

A groan escaped the taller man as a hand lifted to gaze at simple leather bound watch against his wrist, the small line ticking away as it read approximately 10:00 am. Fingers then slid into his dark black curls that were a little damp as he sighed out loud this time around to show his clear disdain.

The creature was on his torso now, staring at him with those large, black beady eyes that demanded attention where he would never yield it. Did the creature not get the hint already?

John had brought this beast home for which reason he could not fathom other than to annoy him with as it enjoyed hopping from HIS chair to HIS bed. Biting on HIS slippers, its presence only further fueled his bored state that would often result in his retreat into somber thoughts.

“John….” the name sounding distant as it was spoken but relief in its undertones was not missed by the laying male.

“Yes, yes. I’ve got him. Come here Tobey.”

Next came the sound of running water from the kitchen as it filled up a small bowl before being set down onto the tiled floor that was surprisingly clean of muck, blood or any odd sticky substance. The pup running towards the dish with his panting tongue nearly skid to a halt at the feet of the man who placed it for it. It began to lap at the water lavishly in its thirst.

“John, how long is that…thing staying here?”

“It’s not a thing, Sherlock. It’s a dog, I know you know that very well.” The voice responded mildly amused. “And till I decide where to take him, the poor little thing was stuck in the sewer drain. I couldn’t very well just leave it there.”

“No of course not. You HAD to pick him up, bring him home and wash him off in our sink; you know how much bacteria were transmitted to your hands in a matter of seconds?” The petulant man responded from his location: the long couch, laying calmly as his eyes stared up to the worn-down ceiling. A frown clearly depicted on his features from the unwarranted guest in the shared flat.

The shorter of the two only crossing his arms over his chest with a raised eyebrow, “Just because you haven’t had a case doesn’t mean you need to take it out on the little fellow.”

“That has nothing to do with it-”

“It has everything to do with it. You said, ‘I said bring me a case when you left, not a beast.’ Now that I’ve kept him, you’ve been pouting the past couple of days.” John mused in return as arms uncrossed, trailing over to grab onto the newspaper on the coffee table as he settled onto his arm chair with a groan. His fingers leafing through the classifieds, tossing them aside then reading the headlines. Sensing an irate gaze on him, he continued, “You’re proving my point.”

“The point was null and voided when I didn’t agree John, basic conceptualization.” The voice wafted in its normal almost obnoxious tone. He clearly was still annoyed with himself from the earlier dream.

Before the military man could respond, the sound of footsteps bounding up the stairs could be heard which turned both heads towards the door to see the Detective Inspector looking worn out; more so than usual. “Sherlock…John…. you two have never been a sight for sore eyes.”

“Do I want to know what that means?” The doctor commented, raising an eyebrow at his friend’s state of dress and clear duress, “That bad?”

“You’ve no idea, mate.” The Detective lifted a weary palm onto his face, a file folder in his hand that he held firmly with intent to give it to Sherlock who continued to lay there with clear intent to stay there. An eyebrow rose as he saw the inquisitive expression on the doctor’s face, “Don’t you wanna know the details?”

“I already deciphered from your attire it has something to do with that Malkin’s Circus that trapezed into town for its tour two days ago. I don’t DO circuses.” The tone of finality mentioned as long pale fingers curled into themselves to lay onto a broad torso as the tall man barely shifted otherwise. At the disgruntled noise released by Lestrade unconsciously at deducing his prior location, Sherlock added, “It’s not even a five.”

“Sherlock, how can you decide the level if you haven’t even heard Greg say what it’s about?” Rubbing at his temples, the army doctor rose to grab the folder from the weary officer, offering his seat in return as he trailed to the kitchen to make him a cup of coffee.

The small pup going to greet this new individual with a happy wag of its tail, making the inspector smile as he reached over to pat its head lightly.

“It says here that four audience members have disappeared since its show appearance, making it two a night. No bodies found, no evidence of foul play – they’ve just up and gone. Why haven’t you made this public? You know to avoid additional disappearances.”

“I didn’t know you two got a dog. A bloodhound of all sorts….” Greg’s palm continued to pet its head, watching as it turned away from him with floppy ears and all to run over to Sherlock’s side who grunted in disagreement. “My bad; I didn’t know that JOHN got a new dog. He’s a cute fellow. What’s his name?” He snickered as the dog was eyeing one of Sherlock’s black slippers neatly settled on the floor and the owner eyeing the creature with hidden threat of violence should it try to chew on the object.

Recalling the question tossed to him, he tossed his head back to look over at the occupant in the kitchen with a frown, “I was advised it might have been…more beneficial to scope out the place after the first two disappeared but we missed our window of opportunity and the next pair went missing.”

“Don’t you think that idea’s practically begging for failure?”

“It wasn’t my idea, it was---”

“Donovan’s. The woman would do anything to try and ‘one’ up me. Miserably I might add.” The Detective with the curled black hair sat up, reaching for his slippers to place onto his feet while giving the pup a small nudge with his foot to go off. “Shoo you beast.”

“His name is not beast Sherlock, it’s Tobey.” A roll of his eyes, John return to offer freshly brewed cup to Lestrade, earning him a look from his flatmate to whom he had not offered any. The shorter man moved to offer the folder instead firmly, “It’s at least a seven.”

“Nope, still a four. Three especially since it’s at a circus.” A shudder escaping the tall man who looked over the file briefly before tossing it beside him on the couch. His long fingers reaching into his blue dress robe for his cellphone to go typing away at who knows who except for Sherlock. His expression still neutral with no indication of removing himself from the furniture.

John’s face wrinkled slightly at his flat mate’s disposition to assist their friend though before he could coax the man to assist, his ears picked up on a chime from his laptop. He moved automatically to it and sat in Sherlock’s chair to review the email.

Greg took his cup to sip and sighed at the warmth it brought him. It was rather chilly outside considering it was early November; the wind blowing against the trees outside making them bend this way and that. His hazel irises looking to the consulting detective seriously for a moment.

“Sherlock, there are four people missing. This is not a bloody game, we need to find them fast.”

“They aren’t dead Inspector, they’re just missing. People go missing all the time – sometimes purposely; did you find any sort of connection linking the four missing?”

“Well…they were all men; ages between 30-40. One a banker, two security guards, and one garbage man. Nothing really outta the ordinary.” The silver-haired male responded; his expression becoming rather despondent as Sherlock appeared to be texting avidly with the recipient on the phone. “Funny thing is…they all went alone. No wife or kids, just themselves. Why would four grown men go to a circus on their own?”

This last question spoken out loud in the flat made the curly haired Holmes look up from his cellphone, tossing it aside to reach for the folder once more and skim it over more thoroughly than the first time. “That’s the good question. Now…. it’s a five.” It was something to take his mind off of reliving a tormenting moment of the morn.

A small ringtone from “Breaking Bad” could be heard, making Greg look down to his cellphone to dig into the pocket and press the answer button, “Lestrade. Eh? Alright, alright; I’ll be there in a bit…keep the missus occupied.” He commented, getting to his feet as he set half drank cup onto the coffee table.

The doctor could be heard snickering from his place across from Greg, glancing up briefly with a raised eyebrow, “Didn’t take you for a fan.”

“Ah mate, there’s a load of things you don’t know about me.”

“I prefer to just be blissfully unaware.” Sherlock retorted as he took to his feet to begin his idle ramblings and deductions, barely paying any more attention to the Inspector.

Now it was John’s turn gaze at Sherlock with an apathetic look then shook his head, “He’s ALWAYS aware, the git.”

“I heard that!” Sherlock paused in his pacing to frown at John who went back to gazing at his computer, pretending to be deaf to the offended tone.

His eyes looking to Sherlock, “I’ll see you both at the location then?” Not waiting for a response from either of them knowing that when they went into their own world, everything else faded away, the Inspector turned on his heel then trailed down the stairs swiftly to his squad car.

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

On his way down, the Inspector paused right on the stoop of Baker Street to jostle his phone with a shoulder to keep speaking as his fingers searched his tanned long coat that had seen its fair share of winters to locate his keys. His head ducked to keep the phone’s position, facing the door as if about to head back inside should he have left them.

“Bloody hell….no, no. I’m listening Anderson, I told you to keep her occupied, I’m just looking for my keys.” Greg’s fingers encountered the small key chain of the Tower of London attached to his car keys. It had been given as a joke, but he found himself using it nonetheless.

“I’m leaving Sherlock’s place and heading back now. I don’t care that you--” his speech cut off abruptly as he turned with his face beaming as he gripped around the keychain to pull it free.

Both phone and keys fell to the ground with a resounding crack as his frame had crashed into a sturdy one that caught them surprisingly well despite the sudden motion. An arm wrapped about his waist for balance, cursing his shorter height then gazing up to the man who had saved them a bloody nose. He was impressed by the quick reflexes. Though it should not have come as a surprise, after all, it was a Holmes; the older one to be precise.

“Hello Detective Lestrade.” The confident voice of one Mycroft Holmes spoke; causing the Inspector to relax only marginally in the grip.

His fingers had curled into the fabric of the suit in front of him a moment for his bearings, hazel eyes then relaxing as Greg pushed himself back and away to straighten out. “Ah apologies, Mycroft, I was just headin’ out.”

“I see. I literally caught you at a bad time.” His expression calm, neutral as it normally was when they spoke on the brief occasions they did. It was always more of a conversation over the phone or small vague text messages that Greg had to consult with John to understand. The shorter doctor was the only one who could understand the cryptic ways of the Holmes brothers and he was slowly discovering that himself of the older one after years with the younger.

“Was that a joke?”

“I. I suppose it was?” The man answered his question with a question.

A crooked smile came to his expression as he clapped the other on the shoulder seeing as Mycroft was on the sidewalk as he, himself, was on the stoop still.

“Good on you mate. Come to see Sherlock?”

“I do enjoy seeing him strung up sometimes with my mere presence. It’s a perk of being the older one.” A small smirk on his features.

A laugh escaping past the DI’s lips as he nodded, “He barely gets ruffled when I’m here, so seeing you accomplish the job’s good for a chuckle. I left him with something to help with and doesn’t even blink!”

“My brother has a very small perceived notion of how to react to anything.” Mycroft responded with irritation coated in his voice, peeking to the door with the 221B sign.

“Ain’t that the truth; he’s an odd sort. Still I need him.”

The sound of an irritated Anderson coming from the floor jostled his brief musings to gaze down. “Lestrade?! Hello! I was still speaking!”

A snort escaped the Inspector which turned into a sheepish expression when he recalled he still had company; a very dignified one at that. His hand was paused as he was about to reach for his fallen items only to see the taller man reaching down more quickly then promptly handing them over.

Their fingers brushing made him twitch to grasp the phone and keys securely this time as he retracted to his side, “Sorry. I’ll uh…just get going.”

Clearing his throat, the man moved to sidestep around the Holmes who only remained quiet as he did so. His feet carried him to the squad car, fiddling with the keys a moment as he knew there was a steady gaze watching him. Greg’s head tossed back to offer a small smile, “Good day.”

“Yes, good day Detective Inspector.” The redhead gave a brief wave in farewell as the DI entered his vehicle to drive away. Mycroft’s eyes watching till the car was gone from sight with a small sigh escaping him as he went to trail inside. “Still couldn’t do it…. well done Mycroft.”

 

~ ~ ~

 

After Lestrade had left the flat, Sherlock had taken to pacing a hole into the floor in front of the couch with little Tobey circling with him easily. Every other step, the tall male had to pause to chide the creature to stop his motions.

“He likes you, stop discouraging him and just tell me what on earth you were talking about before? Lestrade said something and you just got all into your thinking mode.”

“When am I ever NOT in my thinking mode?” He retorted, pausing in step which resulted in the dog to crash into his calf and he growled irritated. “John!”

The doctor gazed up from where he had been reading his email that his sister had sent him. He had been more focused on that admittedly to the case the Inspector left them to review. Him and his sister Harry had never gotten on since he left for the military; now that he had returned and became a prominent figure in the newspapers, she had taken to reading his blog and wanted him to come to dinner with her and Clara. She was throwing the olive branch first, he spent a few moments to think of how to respond when the call of his name came.

“Tobey, come here. Sherlock’s being a grump and doesn’t want to play.” A snicker came to the doctor’s lips at the choking sound escaping the detective as the dog moved to his owner’s side and hoisted into his lap. Petting the dog’s head lightly, his eyes gazed out the window to raise an eyebrow at seeing Mycroft speaking to Greg on the step.

The younger Holmes only frowned at the snickering sound then reached for the file to toss it onto John’s laptop, “John, when Mycroft comes up, leave him the dog and let’s get going.”  
  
“What? How did you-” The doctor gazed to the door as it opened with the umbrella carrying Holmes brother, sneering automatically as both men looked at one another in annoyance. “Oh, never mind. You ever hear of a knock Mycroft?”

“Hello Doctor Watson. Why should I knock when the door was already open from the Inspector’s departure?” It was said in the most obvious tone that had John sighing as he got to his feet with his dog at hand.

“Mycroft I’ve no time for pleasantries, though they are lost on you.” Sherlock stated despondently, stopping his pacing entirely with his hands folded behind his back. His eyes staring into his brother’s with a clear frown on his face. John would swear the two of them have permanent frowns when the other was around it was hilarious to see their expressions contort so quickly.

The government official would stand there looking put out, cleared his throat then leaned lightly on his umbrella with a chuckle, “I would be significantly surprised if anything uttered from mouth was considered pleasant.”

“Come now you two. Can we not?”

“You didn’t come here for anything important otherwise you would’ve complained about it by now.”

“Am I not allowed to indulge in the small gesture that is seeing my brother on his off day?” Mycroft mused innocently though smirked in delight at seeing Sherlock frustrated even if minutely.

Sherlock moved easily past his brother towards the coat hanger for his blue long coat to shrug on easily, shifting the collar up as he did so then reaching for his scarf to wrap about his long neck without so much as a response. The other two occupants in the room, not counting the new dog, would gaze to him curiously: well, John was curious, Mycroft was indifferent.

He took long strides towards the open door where the bane of his existence had just appeared from all the while John remained stationary. “John, let’s go.” And out Sherlock went without a backwards glance.

It made the blonde blink his irises briefly then shook his head as he pushed the dog into Mycroft’s arms unceremoniously to cause the pup to lap at his face and the redhead looking indignant, “What on earth?!”

“He’s no trouble. I imagine you’re going to head out, please leave him with Mrs. Hudson and she’ll make sure he doesn’t rip your brother’s lab apart.” John commented casually slipping on his leather jacket as well then on went his boots by the door.

It was as if he had handed his child over to the safekeeping of its uncle. Though he stopped that thought for a moment, would that insinuate that Sherlock and he were its parents?

It was with this small internal struggle that Mycroft took advantage to press the wriggling animal back into John’s arms with a sneer. “Why not take him with you and make it a family outing?” The sarcasm evident as his gaze looked ready to toss the dog to the curb otherwise.

“I doubt Sherlock would enjoy that much since---you know what, screw it. I think I will.” A firm nod of his head, setting the pup down onto the floor then moved to go and grab a leash he had purchased yesterday for their daily walks. He had offered to go on such a walk with Sherlock; the taller only scoffing about some nonsense with eyeballs in the fridge needing tending to and that was the end of that. A small text chime, specifically Star Wars signified Sherlock had sent him the location to meet him. “He needs the walk – kill two birds with one stone.”

“Isn’t that metaphor counterproductive? Not to mention horribly grotesque? I mean taking a stone to murder two birds is very inefficient and-”

“Goodbye Mycroft.” John responded casually as he trailed down the stairs of the flat at 221 Baker Street; Tobey barking happily to not be left home.

Mycroft’s eyebrow raise in the direction of the smaller male who had dismissed him as easily as his brother did, causing him to shake his head, “He’s a horrible influence. To which I’m speaking of, I have yet to determine.” He spoke to himself out loud before finding his own way out; making sure the CCTVs were all operational to spy on his favorite DI.

 

~ ~ ~

 

Once on the scene, John Watson observed two things almost immediately: one, they were going to have a problem with the bearded lady if Sherlock continued to hound her about ‘authenticity’ and comparing it to needing a right shave and two, Tobey continued to tug at the leash to follow the tall detective instead of staying by his side. What was he thinking? He wanted to spite Sherlock with the dog and show him his usefulness. After all, a bloodhound was a detective in its own way. But Tobey had yet to live up to that expectation in the all of ten minutes they had arrived.

The circus staff, which was rather large with their acrobats flying around and clowns that were an abundant would watch him wearily or Sherlock whom he had to physically push away from the lumbering man defending his woman: the bearded lady.

“I don’t see why he would be upset; you’d think he’d be grateful I informed him. Though considering his steroid level is significantly increased with his brain activity that of a mouse; I can see why he would be simple-minded.”

“Sherlock, can you try to be rational for once and not make enemies? This is their turf not ours. I’ve heard carnies are pretty territorial.” John warned his friend as his eyes took in the way the dwarves were making obscene gestures towards them. It made him shudder a brief moment.

A groan escaping the taller man as he crossed his arms to frown, “I had to eliminate the most obvious choices for kidnapping and would have the most attention drawn to them. The bearded lady, the strongest man, the ringleader, and the fellows with the little car; everyone would be watching them.”

“And you thought the best approach was to insult them to the point they wanted to beat you bloody? Brilliant.” A sarcastic undertone as he watched Sherlock move over to a tent, easily following behind him.

The scene made for one of those old 1920s black and white films; a large tent with rows of make-shift seats that appeared hazardous was one to sit for longer than necessary. It probably added to the element of authenticity. In one corner, the acrobats were jumping on a large trampoline, launching themselves into the air with practiced ease while a man worked with trained dogs. It made John briefly wonder if he could teach Tobey to do such things.

His attention returned to Sherlock’s coated back that was hunched over currently a barrel that was labeled ‘TNT’, of course it was merely a prop made to be exaggerated, but he stood straight with a hum. “There was money here.”

“What?”

Blue eyes gazed back over to him, a hint of discovery as if he found the answer to life’s greatest secrets as he ducked back into the barrel to get a whiff of the plastic; earning a curious expression from those around them. Sherlock’s curls barely peeking out from the top then he straightened out to move over to another barrel that was labeled, ‘Dynamite’, and mimicking the same.

“There was money. It’s brilliant, absolutely brilliant!” A clap of his hands as he laughed in a boisterous manner; a smile wide on his lips, “There’s a clear smell of cotton, ink and a coppery undertone; possibly blood.”

“Blood? Then….there was a body in the barrel?!” He exclaimed, only to be hushed by Sherlock.

“It’s entirely possible, but I’d have to gain a greater sense of smell before I can definitively deduce a body was placed in there. Money is the surety, perhaps someone who got in the wrong place.” A tap of his chin as he mentally mumbled details of the four men who had disappeared; tacking off who out of the four would have the body depth to even fit in the small barrel.

“Care to share?”

“Not now John. Didn’t Lestrade say one of the men ‘kidnapped’ was a banker? We need to go investigate the bank he was working at. We’ll get a clearer picture.”

“If there was money in the barrels, where’s it gone now? I’d imagine if this was some convoluted plan, they can’t exactly store it openly. It’s a small area.” He felt himself tugged by the small dog off to a small bale of hay, watching as the pup relieved himself then pattered back to Sherlock.

The curly-haired Holmes would only have a frown on his features when they returned as if now noticing the animal.

“What?”

“John…you know that a dog is a messy sort on its own; it’s twice as easily to contaminate a crime scene!”

"Don't you contaminate crime scenes frequently? You make it a habit you know." 

Sherlock could only sigh at his frustration to not be meshed with the dog in one comparison, "I am actively investigating, I am not contaminating it. Anderson does a better job of that...about the only thing he does better." 

“Well I couldn’t very well just leave him home alone. Mycroft refused to take him - rather looked about to toss him back into the gutter.” A calm tone responded to the other’s complaint. "I've got him leashed, I'll handle it."

The taller male stepped over to John, his long hands setting onto shoulders and giving him a small shake in emphasis to his point. Sherlock’s blue eyes gazed down into brown ones that only returned the gaze with amusement and a challenge. A challenge to what Sherlock would say to the added companion on their case.

They were beautiful, filled with life that drastically opposed the image embedded unfortunately in his mind of them being dead.

It was a brief moment between them but with his quick observational skills; he took in the other’s appearance more vividly and commit it to memory instead. From the soft wrinkle of John’s nose at his clear contentment that was mingled with patience drawing thin presumably from his own actions; then the light ruffle in his hair from a quick jog out of their flat to catch a cabby to the circus as well as probably wrestling the dog. A small smile on his lips that were aimed only at him, Sherlock, his heart unconsciously speeding up in its beat then the scene from this morning briefly flashed his eyes that made him grip into the fabric of the leather beneath fingertips.

Also being observant or rather, just observant of Sherlock considering how many years they had lived together in addition to the general cases they undertook; the man leaned his head forward and into his space.

The action bringing those chaffed, pale pink lips an inch closer to his own, making the detective hold his breath unconsciously as words muttered near him, “Sherlock….you in there? If you’ve gone into your mind castle without warning me, I’ll let the dwarves draw on you for shits and giggles.”

Blinking his icy blue irises to refocus on John’s face that was half-joking to peel back his fingers from his shoulders and down his sides; Sherlock clearing his throat as he shook his head, “No, I was talking about Tobey and how you should not have brought him.”

Before John could comment on the fact Sherlock used the correct name for the dog, said animal was wiggling away from the leash and his own grasp.

He sniffed around the edges of the barrel, wagging his tail excitedly then caught the scent. The dog peered over to the two men who watched him carefully then he took off in the direction of a back room with an abundant of costumes. Barking as he went, John ran after him with Sherlock easily in toe.

“Tobey! Come back!”

The small dog weaved through the legs of designers and some of the staff getting dressed for their next performance in an hour; only to get yelled or shouted for running through recklessly or not being under control.

Soon the three of them met with a pile of garbage bags that had Tobey bouncing on his legs, circling around in circles like Sherlock would do when pacing the floors then stop on one larger bag to nudge it with his nose. It appeared to be heavier than the others.

“Oi! You can’t be here!”

“What’s in those bags?” John demanded to the large man who appeared to be a garbage man himself; looking angry that his mess was just made larger.

“Eh? Just junk from the circus cleanups. What with the shit from the elephants and dogs, you’d think people would be put off from eatin’ anythin’ an’ makin’ a fuckin’ mess.” The large man grumbled a badge on his chest saying his name as ‘Jakob’; he reached for one of the bags to toss it into his garbage truck. “Look I don’t ask, I just toss it out. So get your mutt outta here before I toss ‘im into the crusher too.”

He sneered at the bloodhound who only barked at him, moving to grasp onto the edge with his teeth to tug the large black bag. Jakob lifting a foot about to keep the dog off to allow him to toss it into the truck for processing only to feel his head punched sideways. It was quick, barely giving anyone any time to react to the wiser. The action threw him off balance onto his ass with a grunt, looking to see Sherlock kneeling beside the little dog and opening the bag. “If ya wanted that shit, you shoulda just said so!”

“I just didn’t want you to touch my dog; you’ll contaminate it with your stupid.” Blue eyes narrowing as they observed the state of the lifeless form of one of the men they had been searching for.

“My wha’?!”

“Is that….a hand?” John questioned over the loud noise of the crushing garbage truck; moving to turn it off before returning to see that Sherlock and Tobey had uncovered one of their missing men: the banker.

The man appeared to have had his throat slashed yet the blood drained from him to indicate he had not died recently with the tongue cut and otherwise well-kept from the clothing he had come to the circus with.

The blonde man quickly pulled out his cell to call Lestrade to bring the crime scene unit, watching as Jakob who probably stood at nearly 7 feet when standing straight move to throw up in a nearby feeding pail. It was clear he was not involved with how disturbed he appeared, mumbling about bodies and shit.

John looked now over to Sherlock who was looking over the body, undeterred as always with little Tobey sniffing about as well. The man muttering to the dog who appeared to respond with tiny yaps of agreement which caused a small smile to appear on normally stoic features; it was endearing to see a man bonding with his dog over a dead man’s body.

At least it was for Doctor John Watson who took a not so secret photograph of the two.

In the small moment, neither would take note of a figure gazing to them from the around the garbage truck with the commotion of the circus performers snapping a photograph themselves to send it as a text to their employer. Snap and Send, it was an intricate game that would lay out the pieces to the timeless puzzle of chess especially when there were so many players to meddle with.

To be continued….


End file.
